


The Titsee Contest

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1960s, Brainwashing, Cults, F/F, F/M, Flirting, High School, Hypnotism, Porn With Plot, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: Three teenage girls invent a dangerous flirting game.  They take the competition too far, and are then hypnotized and brainwashed by an agent of a white slavery ring.





	1. Chapter 1

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, two characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

In 1965, my friends and I were eighteen years old, looking to graduate from Hopper Douglass High School with middling honors.  I wish I could say that we had grand ambitions of moving out of Greenacre, Alabama and taking on the world.  But in those days, all we wanted was for school to end.  The future seemed abstract.

I was a capable student, of course, but I didn’t see the point of working like the Dickens for higher grades.  Why bother?  No-one who grows up in Greenacre ever leaves Greenacre, nor ever has any **_need_** to leave Greenacre.  The men work in the lumber mills and the women stay home or work the service industry.  My momma still lives a mile from her old school friends; my dad can same the same.  Me, I’ll probably waitress at the Flapjack Diner forever.  As will Madison and Chloe.

Ah, I should properly introduce myself.  I’m Hannah Willows, Greenacre’s 1966 Beauty Queen.  (Of course, that trophy is now over twenty years old.)  Nowadays I’m married, with teenage kids of my own.

And perhaps because my oldest daughter Katie is… ah, **_developing_** , I find myself thinking about the Titsee Contest.

Lord, don’t let Katie be as foolish as I was.

*****

My senior year at Hopper Douglass was the best time in my life.  I kinda knew I would be getting married by the time I was twenty, so in high school, I was dating and flirting.  A lot.  I had a fair amount of sex – thankfully Momma didn’t know – but I was also discovering that sex was power.  A lot of power.  Some days, it seemed like it was the only power I had.

The Titsee Contest was born the morning I got a Current Events quiz back from Mr. Mathers, the Social Sciences teacher: I was aghast to see my grade:  D minus?!?  How could I have gotten a **_D minus???_**

I waited until the end of class, then accosted Mr. Mathers.  “Why’d you give me such a bad grade?” I moaned.

Mr. Mathers, a heavyset guy with a cinnamon-swirl hairdo and bad taste in ties, looked at me with some exasperation.  “Com’on Hannah,” he groused.  “You gotta work harder, girl.”

“But Mr. Mathers,” I wailed, “I **_did_** work hard.”  Sometimes if you’re a girl and you play exasperated and dumb, the men teachers boosted your score.

“I remember your paper, Hannah,” Mr. Mathers said dully.  “You earned that D minus.  You didn’t even know what the Paradise Cult was!”

“I **_know_** what the Pair… of Dice Cult is,” I said tartly.

“Mmm,” replied Mr. Mathers.  “And what, pray tell, **_is_** the cult, Hannah?”

“Uh…” I said.

“Exactly,” snapped the teacher.  “If you’d done the reading assignments, Hannah, you’d know the Paradise Cult is abducting young women all across the country and selling them into some sicko white slavery ring.  Police coast-to-coast are looking for them.  Young girls like you should know this.”

 _Fine,_ I thought.  _Time to change tactics._

“Com’on, Mr. Mathers,” I whined.  “I really did work hard for this quiz, I really did!”

I was essentially just fishing for more points without providing any arguments.  Sometimes that worked.

“So… what about Question 2?” I asked, and thrust my quiz paper at my teacher.

Mr. Mathers sighed, but took my quiz from me.  His eyes swept downward.

“See?” I pouted.  “I didn’t do so bad on Number 2, right?”

I waited for the Soc teacher to give me another withering remark.  Instead, he remained with his eyes downward, silent for the moment.

And then… it dawned on me.  He wasn’t looking at my quiz at all.  He was staring across the top of my paper and straight at my cleavage.

Ever since I hit womanhood, I developed very amble breasts.  My mother was always in denial about them, hoping I could squeeze into a bra one size smaller.  And this hurt a little, but more importantly, it made my boobs pop.  In an open button-down blouse like the one I was wearing that day, I was positively busting out.

I **_should_** have been offended beyond the pale.  A male teacher openly staring at my womanly bosom?  How crude!  Southern ladies, of course, are defined by our refinement and ladylike character.  We are _demure_ , as my grandmammie liked to say.  We do not appreciate it when gentlemen stare at our boobies.

But in that moment, I realized that somehow Mr. Mathers’ brain was frozen, and it was all because of me and my chest.  It was like I had him hypnotized or something.  Amused, I found myself silently counting the seconds:  Two… three… four…

Wow, the teacher was really, really distracted by my milky white bosoms.  Amused, I said, “Mr. Mathers?” and shook my shoulders, just a little.  My breasts swayed back and forth.  Mr. Mathers’s pupils actually followed them.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, coming out of his trance.  “Uh…  Er…  I’m sorry, Hannah, what were you saying?”

*****

At lunch, I couldn’t help but tell my best friends, Madison and Chloe, about the incident.  They chortled with immature laughter, snorting their milk.

“Oh Lordy, Mr. Mathers has peaked at my bust, too,” Madison said.  “He’s a dirty old goat.”

“But he’s married!” Chloe exclaimed, slightly scandalized.

“Yeah, and Mrs. Mathers’ boobs drape down to here,” I wisecracked, holding a hand down about my knee.

“Ladies?” a warning male voice intoned from behind my shoulder.

This was Mr. Roberts, the shop teacher.  He hadn’t heard our conversation, of course, but I guess we were getting too loud or something.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face the guy.  “Sorry, Mr. Roberts,” I said, using my sad-little-girl voice.  “We’ll be more quiet.  We were just talking about… woman things.”

And I don’t know why I did it, but as I spoke, I slowly traced a finger along the top of my blouse.

“Yes, well, er…” said Mr. Roberts, as his gaze momentarily flicked downward, “…Ah, please be courteous to your neighbors.”

And with one last glance at the top of my breasts, the shop teacher sauntered off.

Madison and Chloe stifled giggles.  “Oh my God!” Chloe gagged.  “What a pervert!”

I shrugged, feeling confident.  “So easy,” I boast.  “Nothing to it.  Five points.”

*****

The next day, both my friends appeared in school with low-cut tops.  Madison is like me; she comes from a long line of curvy, busty women; top-heavy with a thin waist until the babies pop out, then chunky for the rest of life.  As an eighteen-year-old, Mads probably had a bigger cup than mine.  Chloe was the smallest of the three of us, but her breasts were nothing to sneeze at.

The instant I saw my friends and their cleavage, I knew:  They wanted to see if they could entrance our teachers as I did to Mr. Mathers and Mr. Roberts.

And by lunchtime, they had interesting notes to share.  “Ooo, you were right, Hannah,” Chloe told me.  “The men in this school are morons!  Show a little tit and they drool on the spot.”

“Who’d you get?” Madison asked, munching on her roast beef sandwich.

“Mr. Geffor and Mr. Klien,” bragged Chloe.

I was surprised.  Mr. Geffor was mid-thirties and divorced, I think, so it made sense he would stare at a girl if given the chance.  But Mr. Klien was older than my grandpappy; I would have thought the sight of slightly exposed breasts wouldn’t have dented the haze surrounding his brain.

“Mr. **_Klien?_** ” Madison recoiled.  “Ewwwww!”

I agree.  Thinking about ol’ Mr. Klien mesmerized by Chloe’s breasts was, well, gross.

“I know, right?” Chloe grinned.  “But he was pretty easy.  Five points for each.”

“Actually,” I interjected, “shouldn’t Mr. Klien be worth more?  He probably uses a pacemaker and can’t see too well.  You probably had to work harder.  Ten points for him.”

“Oh,” Chloe agreed, “fine.  Fifteen points for me.”

“Yeah, I’d be impressed…” Madison said lazily, “…if I wasn’t up **_seventeen_** points!”

“Seventeen?” Chloe and I said together.

“I got glances from Mr. Flander, Mr. Alman, **_and_** Mr. Georges, who is worth an extra two points, because he teaches Sunday School.”  Madison cackled wickedly.  “And he stared at me the longest, too!  Sheesh!”

*****

The competition was born in that moment.  We all wore low-cut blouses every day after that.  For reasons I don’t completely remember, we named our little game the “Titsee Contest” I think because, well, it was all about getting older men to see our tits.  I would pass Madison in the hall and brag, “Five more Titsee points!” and only she would know what I was talking about.

The whole thing was perverse and despicable, I know.  But that was the fun of it.  Honestly, these male teachers thought and acted like they ruled our lives, shoveling out disapproval and condescension to all the girls at Hopper Douglass.  If you were a female student, they assumed you were dumb as rocks and barely bothered to hide their contempt.

But the moment you leaned forward and let them gaze into your chest, our instructors became salivating morons.  It was like we could put them under a spell, if only for a few seconds.  I will admit, I got off on this tiny bit of power.  While I wasn’t proud of acting like a tramp, I **_loved_** that moment when their gaze drifted down and they lost their train of thought.

You know what the **_best_** was?  The best was when you could distract a teacher at just the right moment and then wield power over them.  I’ll never know why, but when men are staring at breasts, they are highly suggestible.

For example:  Three days after the Titsee Contest started, I was caught late for the bell by Mr. Harris.  “I’ll have to write you up,” he glowered, reaching for his pen and the points slip in his shirt pocket.

“Oh, Mr. Harris,” I flirted, “do you **_have_** to?”  And I leaned forward, just a little.

He gaped at my chest.  “Uh…”

“I won’t let it happen again,” I promised coyly.

“Oh…  well… alright,” Mr. Harris allowed.  He blinked, then smiled.  “Run along then.”

Fantastic!  Five points for getting him to look, and another five points for dodging detention.

*****

 


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, two characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Madison, Chloe, and I quickly realized we needed a formal scoring method.  While on the bus, we worked out the system:

**Male teacher....................................Five points**

**Older teacher...................................Ten points**

**Gym teacher.....................................Three points**

**Janitor, lunch guy, bus driver............Two points**

**Principal or VP..................................Ten points**

**Suspected homosexual teacher.........Twenty points**

**Bonus..............................................Getting out of trouble, plus five points**

**Bonus..............................................Plus five extra points per teacher, if in a group**

**Female Teacher................................Thirty points**

There were deviations, of course.  Mr. Hawkins was worth eight points:  Five for being a male teacher, plus five because he’s old, but minus two because he was such a dirty old man and would gawk at any woman under any conditions.  That old buzzard would have ogled my grandmammie’s chest if given the chance.  Mr. Phillips was worth three points:  Five because he was male, but minus two because although he was unmarried, he was clearly desperate for female companionship, and he was too easy to manipulate.

Madison, Chloe, and I were all on the honor system, of course.  If one of us claimed they had scored ten points, then the other two of us accepted that as the official score.  You have to understand, we’d all known one another since nursey school.  We would never lie to one another.

The Titsee Contest was also exciting because there was a certain amount of risk involved.  Sooner or later, we reasoned, these dumb men would realize what was going on, and then our parents would be called.  I didn’t think we could get detention, but why risk the punishment?

But amazingly, our instructors never noticed how we were manipulating them.  If anything, Mads, Chloe, and I grew more popular with the faculty.  The Monday morning after we started the contest, all three of us were entering the school at the same time, our cleavage out, all six tits lined up on display as we walked shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Well, hello, girls!” Mr. Conners said, grinning broadly, leaning against the trophy case.  Mr. Phillips, talking with him, nearly spilled his coffee.  Neither men ever actually made eye contact with us.

“Hi, Mr. Conners,” we chorused in perfect unison.

That little exchange netted each of us ten points apiece, even before we sat down in homeroom, thanks to Conners and Phillips.  What **_idiots!_**

*****

Some time later, the whole of Hopper Douglass High was all abuzz.  Rumor had it that there was a businessman, a hotshot corporate executive from out West, right here in our school!  This didn’t make a lot of sense when you first heard the gossip, but the other kids seemed dead-set on its absolute truth.

“Its true!” Suzie Walkins told me and Madison and Chloe in homeroom.  “I saw him!  He’s tall, with the best-looking suit I’ve ever seen!  Double-breasted and everything!”

You have to understand:  Greenacre was a remote little logging town.  The nearest city was Mobile, over three hours away by car.  No-one from the East or West coasts **_ever_** came into our little backwater community.  And in 1965, Greenacre was even more isolated than it is now.

“A corporate executive man?” Madison asked, clearly skeptical.  “What’s he doing here at Hopper Douglass?”

“Beats me,” Suzie admitted.  “Maybe he’s looking for a wife?” she wondered hopefully.

I rolled my eyes.  Suzie was skinny with huge buck teeth.  If she were in the Titsee Contest, she’d be a complete flop.  No Western fellow was going to whisk her away for marriage.

But I was mighty curious about this stranger nonetheless.  All morning long, I kept an eye open, plus listened to my classmates.  But aside from Suzie, no-one else seemed to have laid eyes on our mysterious visitor.

Besides, I had more pressing issues upon which to mull.

“I’m up another ten points,” Chloe bragged at lunch, while shining her apple.  “Mr. Bellows, right by the water fountain.  Five because he looked and another five because I got him to excuse me for being late to History.”

“Mr. Bellows, huh?” Madison asked.  “You’re getting good, Chloe.  In a month, you’ll be running this school with your breasts.”

I suppressed a surge of annoyance.  Lately, my two friends were getting really good at the Titsee Contest, while I was falling behind.  Chloe had eighty-four points, Madison now had seventy-nine, and me?  Sixty.  That’s it.  I was hopelessly in third place.

And what had started as mischievous fun had mushroomed into something more competitive.  I don’t think Mads or Chloe intended for me to feel pressured, but I resented their success and my failure.

Part of the problem was that the other two were really, really good at wrapping teachers around their little fingers.  Mads, for example, had **_twice_** convinced Mr. McPhilley to let her submit late homeworks, which awarded her ten points both times.  I couldn’t coax teachers to give me those kind of breaks.

*****

I was brooding over these matters when entering Mr. Mathers’ Social Studies class.  Maybe my boobs could bewitch Mr. Mathers into letting me drive off in his car?  That should be worth thirty points.

As I was filing into the classroom, Madison stopped short directly in front of me, sucking in her breath.  What could have spooked her?

I craned my neck over her shoulder and immediately saw.  Standing in the front of the class, next to a meek-looking Mr. Mathers, was a tall, deeply tanned stranger.  Dressed in a pressed grey suit, with a square jaw and thick blonde hair, the man was both handsome and exotic at the same time.  He watched us students closely, smiling with a twinkle in his bright, brown eyes.  There was a strange intensity in his expression, a hungry look I couldn’t place.  He rubbed his palms together absently.

This was the businessman from out West.  It had to be.

When I first saw him, I had twin reactions.  First, there was something predatory about this man.  Honestly, in that gray suit and in the way he rubbed his hands, he reminded me of the Big Bad Wolf in Momma’s picture book.  As his eyes swept over me, I felt an alarm sound deep within my mind.

But at the same time…  this man was also alluring.  He was handsome.  In fact, the moment I beheld him, I instantly wondered what it felt like to kiss him.  I know that’s bizarre… but that’s where my mind went.

Everyone shuffled to their seats, wondering what exactly was going on.  Madison and I sat in the back row, as always; Chloe sat three seats forward.

“Kids, settle down,” Mr. Mathers said numbly, although there was perfect silence in the classroom.  “Today we have a special treat, a guest from the other side of the country.  Who here remembers our unit on California?”

No-one raised their hands.

“This is Mr. Sanders Leigh,” Mr. Mathers said, although at the time, I thought the stranger’s complete name was “Sandersly.”  “Please give him your full attention.”

The Californian – he was from the California, so that means you call him a “Californian,” right? – stepped forward, smiling brightly.  He had shining white teeth.

“Hello children,” he said, and his voice was rich and deep.  He had a slight accent I’d never heard before.

We all shifted in our seats, suddenly nervous.  This man’s gaze was piercing.  I felt transfixed in the few seconds when he held my gaze.

“Y’all are wondering what such a strange dude is doing in your little town,” Mr. Leigh laughed.  “And why he’s here are your school.  Am I right?”

He was right.

“The Arabian Sultan I work for sent me to purchase you for slaves!” the Californian exclaimed, then laughed even louder at our shocked expressions.

“Ah, y’all are priceless,” he exclaimed.  “No, no, kids, I work for a wealthy gentlemen who owns several wineries up in Sonoma.  (Sonoma is California wine country, kids.)  We need a particular hardwood lumber for the cellars, and that brings me to Alabama.  You folks have got some of the best lumberyards in the Continental US, let me tell you.”

“But I ain’t here because of California or wine or lumber,” Mr. Leigh rambled on.  “Naw, the owner of the Greenacre Lumber Yard is the brother of your Mr. Mathers here, and he and I fell to talking.  See, before I hung up my hat and decided to be a wine man, I traveled the world.  I been to… let’s see here… Africa, India, Middle East, Southeast, China, South America… you name it.  Well, your Mr. Mathers here thought it might be a treat for you youngsters to hear about those strange lands from someone who’s actually been there.  So here I am.”

_Huh,_ I thought.  So the businessman was here in Hopper Douglass to brag about being a world traveler?  That seemed… odd.  But it if meant we didn’t have to listen to boring ol’ Mr. Mathers for another lecture, I was all for it.

“So,” said Mr. Leigh, smacking his two hands together, “where would you kids like to hear about first?”

**_No-one_** spoke up or raised their hands.  Mr. Leigh was engaging, to be sure, but there was also something… intimidating… about his demeanor.  Despite my attraction to him, I didn’t want him focusing his attention on me for a second.

“Oh?” the stranger exclaimed.  “No-one?  Well, then.  I’ll stop wasting your time and give Mr. Mathers back this class time.”

Now every hand in the class shot up, mine included.  Given a choice between the mysterious Mr. Leigh or Mr. Mathers, I’d opt for the former, any day.

“Ah, better,” the Californian beamed.  “So… where?”

He pointed to Gwen O’Sullivan.  “Uh, India!” she blurted out.

“India,” Mr. Leigh nodded, casting his gaze upward.  “Fascinating place, India.  Of course, the British think they civilized India.  But the truth is India has a culture that’s older than the Bible.”

_Older than the Bible?_ I thought.  _How can_ **any** _place be older than the Bible?_   I was fascinated.

“Indian culture,” Mr. Leigh continued, “is far older than any in Europe.  Their dynasties extend back thousands and thousands of years.  Most of the world’s understanding of mysticism is rooted in the Middle East, my friends.”

“What’s mysticism?” Stacey Guthrie asked bluntly.

“Mysticism?” The Californian man asked, his eyes shining.  “Oh, I’m glad you asked.  Mysticism is the ancient study between the connections of mind and body and the universe.  From mysticism comes many modern practices.  For example, hypnotism.  Did you children know hypnotism comes from the India?”

Wow.  I didn’t know that.

“The best, most irresistible hypnotists in the world all hail from India,” Mr. Leigh bragged.  “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I went there.”

“You learned hypnotism?” squeaked Annie O’Sullivan.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Mr. Leigh bragged.

Without warning, the Californian man turned to our instructor.  The two locked eyes, and maybe its my imagination, but Mr. Mathers seemed to freeze.

In a clear, demanding voice, Mr. Leigh intoned, “Mr. Mathers!  When I snap my fingers, you will suddenly find a need to leave this classroom!”

And then he snapped his fingers, once, loudly.

Mr. Mathers blinked.  “I think I’ll get a cup of coffee,” he said absently, to no-one in particular.

And he left!

Mr. Mathers simply turned tail and walked out of our classroom, without so much as a glance back!  I couldn’t believe it.  Never in all my years had I ever seen a teacher simply abandon their classroom.  I confess, my jaw dropped on the spot.

My fellow students were equally impressed; everyone was murmuring excitedly.

“Oh, that’s **_nothing,_** ” Mr. Leigh assured us.  To Stacey Guthrie, he said, “Stand up, girl.”

Looking slightly panicked, Stacey rose to her feet.

“Look at me,” instructed Mr. Leigh.  Stacey did.  Then before I knew what was going on, he grabbed her by the shoulder, while snapping his fingers before her eyes.

“Sleep!” he shouted.

Stacey’s back was to me, but I clearly saw her shoulders slump, her arms drop to her side, and her head sink down into her chest.

I was stunned.  Was Stacey… hypnotized?

Mr. Leigh pivoted away, now bearing down on Bruce Stone.  “Stand,” commanded the Californian.

Bruce automatically obeyed.  Within seconds, Mr. Leigh entranced him too, just like Stacey.

The class was both amazed and alarmed at the same time.  Mr. Leigh moved among us, randomly selecting students, asking them to stand, and then hypnotizing them where they stood.  I watched, amazed, as Chloe was selected and was unable to resist the stranger’s powers.

Chloe was angled so I could see her face as she slept under Mr. Leigh’s spell.  I peered at her carefully.  Chloe’s expression was completely blank, her eyes shut, her lips slightly parted.  Her arms dangled at her sides, completely limp.  She wasn’t faking.

After he had maybe six students under, Mr. Leigh walked to the front of the room.  “My hypnotized friends,” he said loudly.  “In a moment, I’ll count from one to five.  On five, you will awaken, feeling refreshed and wonderful.  The instant you open your eyes, you will shout, ‘Mysticism is amazing!’  Then you will have no memory of doing so or going into hypnosis.  Do you understand?”

He counted to five, clapping his hands loudly on the last number.  As one, the six students opened their eyes, standing straight up.  And I swear, they all cried out, “ ** _Mysticism is amazing!_** ” all at the same time.

Mr. Leigh laughed, delighted, and indicated that we were all to applaud.  Which we did.

As Stacey, Bruce, Chloe, and the others sat down, confused, a sudden stroke of inspiration hit me.  I leaned over to Madison and whispered, “How many Titsee points for the Californian man?”

Mads looked alarmed.  “For him?” she said.  “You get **_fifty_** points.”

I grinned to myself.  It was thrillingly risky, but I saw a way to shoot back to the lead of the contest.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, two characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Mr. Leigh continued lecturing about his travels for the rest of class.  (Mr. Mathers never reappeared.)  And the Californian was positively spellbinding, let me tell you.  As he talked, he would produce large photographs from his travels, which he’d pass around.

When the bell rang, no-one budged until our guest finished his last story.  “So I hope you all travel the world someday,” he concluded, with a bright smile.  We all applauded without hesitation; he was **_that_** entertaining.

Then students snatched their books and hurried for their next class.  Madison gave me a knowing glance as she left, knowing full well what I planned to do.  I held back, allowing the classroom to empty.

And then… it was just Mr. Leigh and myself.  We were alone.

The businessman was packing up his briefcase, unaware I was standing behind him.  I could catch him off-guard.  Perfect.

Outside the classroom, the bell rang again.  I was now officially skipping my next class.  It would be worth it if I could pull this off.  All Mr. Leigh had to do was look at my breasts, and I was up fifty points.  One little glance.  Fifty points.  I could do it.

Walking as silently as I could, I approached Mr. Leigh.

“Excuse me,” I said, softly.

The Californian jumped, whirling around.  I smiled, leaning forward slightly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Leigh,” I murmured, casually fingering the top button of my blouse.  “I just wanted to say…”  I leaned in just a little more.  “…how much I **_enjoyed_** your talk.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Leigh, caught off-guard.

I raised two fingers, lightly rubbing one breast ever so gently.

And then… **_yes!_**   His brown eyes flicked downward.   Unmistakably, he was staring at my chest.

I smiled in victory.  “Thank you,” I said, already spinning on my heels.  Now to escape!

As I reached the door, that deep voice said, “Just a moment, please.”

I paused.  I should have darted into the hallway without hesitation.  But for reasons I’ve never understood, I never turned that doorknob.

Mr. Leigh approached me from behind.  From his footfalls, I could tell he had regained his composure.

“You liked my talk, eh?” he said graciously.  “What is your name, please?”

Feeling both excited and scared, I turned slightly.  “Hannah,” I said honestly.

“Look at me, Hannah,” Mr. Leigh said, ever so softly.

I turned around.  Our eyes met.

Mr. Leigh smiled, a small movement of his perfect lips.  “You are a pretty one,” he told me.  “Do you know why I really came to Alabama?  To your school?”

“No,” I said.  But I think I already knew.

“When I snap my fingers, Hannah,” the man told me, speaking with absolute authority, “you will be unable to pick your feet off the floor.”

And he snapped his fingers, once, right before my eyes.  The click sounded thunderous in my mind.

I blinked, exactly once.  In that moment, I realized two things:  First, I knew there was nothing physically wrong with my legs, my feet, my shoes, or the floor.  And yet, I also knew I had lost the power to lift either foot so much as an inch.  I simply couldn’t budge my own legs.  I was rooted on the spot like a flower in the earth.

How did Mr. Leigh do this to me?  To this day, I have no idea.  There was no “ _Look into my eyes,_ ” or “ _You are falling into a trance,_ ” or “ _As I count from five to one_ ,” or anything like that.  He simply told me that my legs were paralyzed, and that was it.  I was caught.

Never taking his eyes from mine, Mr. Leigh lifted the books from my arms and then carelessly dropped them on the floor.  “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” his deep voice commented, rippling through my mind like nothing I’ve ever felt before.  He drew closer.

And then we were standing toe-to-toe.  I felt him reach around behind me, and then there was a soft click as he pushed the lock button on the doorknob.  I couldn’t look away from him.

With complete confidence, Mr. Leigh stepped forward and kissed me.  He simply put his lips upon mine and we were kissing.  A full-on, deep French kiss.  I remember thinking his breath was cool and sensuous.  I felt my body melt against his.  My eyes closed and I leaned against him.

I could feel Mr. Leigh’s chest again my own, and his erection poking at me through his trousers.  As I kissed him back, I felt those big, powerful hands on my hips, then sliding up my sides, over my breasts, my collarbone, over my shoulders, then down my back.

His touch was incredible; warm, with the exact amount of soft pressure from both palms and fingers.  Wherever it roamed, my muscles dissolved as if they were turned into butter.  I once experienced a professional massage as an exotic present on my sixteenth birthday; Mr. Leigh’s hands touched me like that.

Our kiss ended, and Mr. Leigh started speaking to me.  “And now, Hannah,” he said softly, right into my ear, “you will find that wherever I touch you, your body and your muscles will become relaxed, so very relaxed, so relaxed, indeed, that you will cease to control them.  Allow yourself to sink deeper and deeper into relaxation as my hands guide you into a deep, deep sleep.”

And he continued speaking, his soft tones lulling my mind into abstraction and submission.  Dully, I felt his hands swarm over my body, and he was right; wherever they wandered, my muscles relaxed and were no longer mine to command.

Mr. Leigh’s palms and fingers swept over me again and again, and not just concentrating on my chest and rear, as my boyfriend would do.  No, the Californian man took care to caress **_every inch_** of my body, at least above the knees.  I felt him pass over my face, and amazingly, my cheeks and mouth gave up all tension and melted into his control.  His fingers swept over my neck, and it turned to rubber instantly.  I felt my head grow heavy and descend forward.

All the while, the strange man continued speaking to me, telling me how I was letting go, falling asleep, and drifting into his power.  I knew I was being hypnotized, yet there was nothing I could do to stop my body and my mind from submitting to his will.  My own thoughts grew small and meek as his voice swelled up within.

Soon I believed everything he told me.  I wanted to obey him.  I was his.

*****

I have no idea how long I was in his spell.  I only vaguely remember a blissful dream, where I was aware of nothing but Mr. Leigh’s voice, commanding me and controlling me.  I could have stayed in his magic sleep forever.

And then Mr. Leigh was counting, and I felt myself opening my eyes.  I looked up at him, lost for words.  A desire, a sharp desire, was blooming in my mind.

Without thinking, I moved to Mr. Mathers’ desk, lifting up my skirt as I walked.  My fingers found my underwear, and in two swift movements, I pulled it down below my knees, then stepped out of it completely.

I then gripped both sides of the wide desk, bending over it, and standing slightly on my toes.  As I did this, I felt my vagina beginning to get wet.

Mr. Leigh was directly behind me.  And then his hands were lifting my skirt, caressing my naked buttocks, exploring my underside.  I gasped and allowed my eyes to close as those powerful but gentle fingers probed me.  I felt him position his body directly between my legs.

I felt those magic hands vanish.  And then I heard a belt buckle unfasten, a zipper open, and cloth rustle to the ground.  Mr. Leigh pushed against me once again, his fingers carefully lifting my buttocks up and to the side.  I felt cold air kiss my vagina.

And then something else nudged it, something warm and round and firm.  Mr. Leigh was pressing his cock, his enormous, life-giving cock right against my clit.  I’ve been fucked from behind before, but this was something beyond sensuous.  I felt myself quiver as the head of his penis just barely dabbed the outside of my two lips.

I let out a soft, high-pitched squeal, my first sex noise.  I felt completely helpless, yet delighted.  In the back of my mind, I think I knew that my submissiveness and my arousal were placed in my mind by my new master and I couldn’t resist them.  But I didn’t want to resist.  I wanted to be dominated, both sexually and mentally.  I wanted to be enslaved.

And as these perverse thoughts flowed through my hypnotized mind, Mr. Leigh took the time to position the both of us for fucking.  He pushed my torso down onto the desk while spreading my legs further.

And then, Mr. Leigh began thrusting into me.  At first, he was slow and gentle, carefully exploring my vagina.  It was as if he didn’t want to break me.  I closed my eyes tighter, leaning into his cock.  I suddenly wanted him to fuck me, hard.  I wanted him to pound me so hard, the desk would be propelled across the room.

“Harder,” I gasped.  It was half a plea, half an order.

And Mr. Leigh did not disappoint.  He accelerated his rhythm, pumping deeper and deeper into me.  I hung on, loving it all.

His pelvis began slapping up against my backside and his fingers, once so gently, now dug deep into my flesh.  He rocketed on, faster and deeper, always faster and deeper.  My sex noises grew higher and more excited.

And we fucked.  We fucked like we were the only two people in the world.  We fucked harder than I’d ever done with any of my boyfriends, including my then-current beau.  I thought I’d experienced throbbing manhood before, but this was beyond what I’d ever imagined.  I never wanted it to stop.

Mr. Leigh’s voice suddenly sounded in my mind.  _And now,_ it said, _you will climax.  You will climax fully and without control.  Climax now, for me!_

I still have no idea if he physically spoke those words or if this was a hypnotic command coming awake from deep within my mind.  All I knew was that Mr. Leigh now controlled my vagina, and he wanted me to cum.

So cum I did.  I couldn’t stop it.  I came like a river bursting through a high dam.  I came like a tidal wave striking a beach.  I came like the planets and stars were shaking and falling from the sky.  I remember the strength of my orgasm was so great, I could barely muster the strength to hold on to the desk.

Mr. Leigh came at the same time.  I could **_feel_** him, his cock roaring to life inside me.  I can’t explain it fully, but I felt it.

And still he and I fucked.  We thundered on, pounding one another harder and harder, drinking in the rewards of our carnal union.

I climaxed, as did he.  His cock slowed, then gradually came to a stop.  The two of us remained clinging to the desk, his penis still within me, neither of us willing or able to move.

And then, Mr. Leigh slowly pulled out.  I clenched my vagina muscles as he did, as if I could foolishly clamp onto him and keep him within me.  I guess I was really into the moment at the time.

Mr. Leigh playfully slapped my butt, then released me entirely.  “Stand up,” he ordered me.  “We have to discuss what comes next.”

*****

The Californian stranger spoke to me for a while, but for some reason, I have never remembered a word he said.  It was like his words floated from his mouth straight into my brain and burrowed themselves deep into my thoughts.  I know now that he was re-hypnotizing me, commanding me, programming me with all of his lusts and desires.  I was completely unprepared to withstand any of his demands.

By the time our “conversation” was finished, I was brainwashed.  Mr. Leigh wanted to take me and a few other hypnotized girls straight to Mobile, then onto a train our West, and then onto a ship across the Pacific.  In the Orient, we would be sold as wives or mistresses to wealthy foreign gentlemen, powerful men who lusted after submissive American beauties.  Mr. Leigh would whisk us away, never to see Greenacre again.

“You’re in the Paradise Cult now, Hannah,” Mr. Leigh told me, grinning wickedly.  As he talked, he absently fondled my breasts over my blouse.  “Oh, the New York City papers think the cult is some sinister religious organization, but we’re a white slavery ring, pure and simple.  Voluptuous Southern girls, you fetch the highest price.”

That’s what he did.  Posing as a Californian businessman, Mr. Leigh traveled the United States, hypnotizing and abducting innocent girls, then smuggling them across the globe to be sold for fabulous prices.  It was a perfect, if perfectly evil, ruse.

I’m ashamed to say that at the time, I thought all of this was just grand.  I no longer could think for myself.  My mind was clouded with thoughts of submission and obedience and I simply couldn’t remember my own family, my friends, my life here in Greenacre.  Under Mr. Leigh’s sway, I was ready to happily throw it all away.

“I need more girls, though,” Mr. Leigh mused.  “Tell me all about your friends, Hannah.”

I spoke freely, describing Madison and Chloe.  Under my master’s prodding, I then described the Titsee Contest, including how I had foolishly tried to score off of him.

The Californian smiled.  “Superb,” he commented.  “Here’s what you’re going to do…”

*****

An hour later, I flounced through the door of Mr. McCullough’s Geometry class, where his lecture grinding along as its usual glacial pace.  I had taken Geometry last year, but I knew Madison was in his class this year.

“Yes?” Mr. McCullough asked me, in annoyance.  The entire class stared at me, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t in a classroom myself.

I gestured for Mr. McCullough to speak with me privately in the corridor.  The frumpy Mathematics teacher complied, although not without a frown.

“I’m in the middle of a lesson,” he growled.  “What’s this about?”

“Principal Simmons wants Madison to come with me to the office right away,” I lied.  “Here.”

I shoved what appeared to be a signed hall pass into Mr. McCullough’s hands.  As he peered to scrutinize it, I leaned forward, running two fingers over the tops of my breasts.

“Principal Simmons gave it to me himself,” I promised.

Mr. McCullough gazed into my cleavage, distracted.  “Uh…” he muttered.  “Yes, of course.  Very well.”

Ten points!

Within a minute, I was escorting Madison through the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Mads asked me, excited at this unexpected jailbreak.

I dramatically rolled my eyes.  “Well,” I said, “I have had **_quite_** a day, let me tell you.”

“Did you score off the Californian?” queried Mads.

“No,” I fibbed, then sighed.  “He was impervious to my charms, alas.  However, after I failed to get him, Principal Simmons showed up, and I scored off **_him_** pretty easily.”

“Principal Simmons?” Madison said approvingly.  “Well done!  Ten points.”

“I’m up **_fifty,_** actually,” I said crisply.  “Ten for him, ten **_more_** for Vice Principal Carter who came with him, and then **_twenty_** for convincing both of them that I needed to pull you from Geometry to work on a class project.”

All of this was a bald-faced lie, of course.  I was carefully maneuvering poor, unsuspecting Madison into the trap awaiting her.

“So if I’m tallying correctly,” I concluded, “Chloe has eighty-four, you have seventy-nine, and I’m now at one hundred ten.  How sweet it is…!”

“I’m in **_third?_** ” Madison exclaimed, aghast.

I smiled tightly.  She was jealous?  Perfect.

While Madison was processing her ill Titsee fortunes, I continued the deception.  “Anyway,” I said, “I left my bag in 224.  Let me grab it; then we’ll see if I can score off the librarians.  I’m feeling lucky today.”

Classroom 224 was empty, except for Mr. Leigh, who was seated at the teacher’s desk, pretending to be working on some papers.  He didn’t glance up as Madison and I entered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister,” I play-acted.  “My friend and I are just here to get my bag.”

“Sure,” Mr. Leigh replied absently.  His eyes remained down.

I made a show of retrieving my backpack from the rear of the classroom.  “You ready to go?” I asked Madison.

But my friend was studying Mr. Leigh, chewing on her lip.

“Just a sec,” she muttered to me.

In a flash, I knew what she was thinking.  She’d gone for the bait.

Madison approached the teacher’s desk, already adjusting her boobs in preparation for the score.  “Mister?” she asked sweetly.

Mr. Leigh looked up.

“I just wanted to thank you for your stories about Africa,” smiled Madison, tipping her bodice forward, just a little.

Poor Madison.  She was stepping into a blissful world of servitude and slavery, completely oblivious to her plight.  I smiled to myself, pleased that my master’s plan was working so well.

Mr. Leigh rose, turning to face my friend.  “Look at me, Madison,” he said coolly.

“You know my name?” she said, taken aback.

My master gestured to me, and I moved to lock the classroom door.

“Look into my eyes, Madison,” commanded Mr. Leigh.  He reached forward, wrapping his hands around her shoulders.

Madison never had a chance.  Caught in my master’s dominant gaze, her mind wilted as she fell under his mesmeric power.  I watched with deep satisfaction as she succumbed without as much as a whimper of resistance.  Mr. Leigh hypnotized her in the same way he ensnared me, using his hands to relax her body and his voice to lull her mind into a submissive sleep.

It was incredible to watch, actually.  Madison simply stood there as this strange man ran his hands all over her body, touching her **_everywhere_** , releasing her muscles from her control, and placing her into a powerful sleep.  I didn’t remember most of my own hypnosis session, so it was amazing to behold in the third person was Madison went under his power.  Mr. Leigh would say things like, “… _and when you next awaken, your mind will be enslaved to my will_ …” and I knew Madison completely believed everything he said.

 “And now,” Mr. Leigh said to the sleeping Madison, “when I count from one to five, you will open your eyes, awakening completely.  Instantly, your mind will be filled with thoughts of lust, sheer animal lust.  Your only desire will be to tear off your clothes and hump my body as much and as hard as you can.  You want to please your master more than anything.  Do you understand?”

“…yes…” Madison breathed, still asleep.

Mr. Leigh smiled tightly, then counted:  “One, two, three, four… **_five!_** ”

Madison’s eyes opened and she straightened her back.  She was facing away from me and I couldn’t see her face, but from her body language, I knew Mr. Leigh’s commands had breached the core of her mind.  She would obey him without even realizing that she was programmed.

I watched as Madison leaned forward, kissing Mr. Leigh and already unbuttoning her blouse.  I smiled to myself.  Now both she and I were in the Paradise Cult, and soon we would be traveling west.  Together.

******


	4. Chapter 4

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, two characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

With both myself and Madison under his control, it was child’s play for Mr. Leigh to ensnare Chloe.  The three of us invented a reason to delay her after school, and then Chloe was given an opportunity to score Titsee points off our master.  He was ready for her.  Perhaps because Chloe had been hypnotized by him once before, she fell under his sway even faster than Mads and I did.

By five o’clock, Madison, Chloe, and I were happy puppets, our thoughts warped by whatever Mr. Leigh placed in our minds.  We eagerly followed him to the house he was renting, the red brick cottage out beyond Hickory Farms, and we stayed with him there that evening.

With guilt, I now realize that our parents must have been worried sick.  Madison, Chloe, or I never phoned them or sent word of any kind.  We simply didn’t go home.  Of course, we had been hypnotized to forget our families and think only of our firm devotion to our new master.  But that is little comfort today.

That night, Mr. Leigh re-hypnotized us, no doubt to strengthen his control over our minds.  When he awoke us, Madison, Chloe, and I all stripped naked and began having sex with one another.  Thinking back, all I remember is a great lust, an insatiable hunger to squeeze Mads’ big, naked breasts in my hands or to taste Chloe in her pussy.  And for those two sex goddesses to feast on my own body.  Three-way sex between women is inherently unstable; one woman is being satisfied, one is satisfying, and the third is caressing on the sidelines, impatiently waiting to become either the first or the second.

Mr. Leigh watched us like a hawk, taking his time to remove his clothes.  He spent a little time stroking himself, just stimulating his cock, but not actually charging it up to masturbate.  I guess he wanted to see how long he could witness woman-on-woman-on-woman sex before his own lust overwhelmed his self-restraint?  I’m not sure.  But after what felt like hours of sucking on Madison’s and Chloe’s bodies, I suddenly felt his strong hands on my bare buttocks.  Our master was joining our party.

Instantly Madison and Chloe swarmed to him.  Madison had been lying beneath me, and I had been kissing her deeply.  I was about ready to finger inside her vagina when Mr. Leigh gripped me from behind.  I gasped, possibly exclaiming, “Oh, master!”

Instantly, Madison wriggled out from underneath me, while Chloe began running her tongue down Mr. Leigh’s torso.  I was on my elbows and knees, and once Mads wasn’t beneath me, I dropped even lower, pushing my ass higher into the air.  I wanted my master to have unfettered access to my vagina.  As Madison wormed her way to his side to join Chloe, I felt him insert his cock, and start pumping.

And the four of us fucked one another, over and over again, deep into the night.

******

I don’t know how late it was when I drifted off to sleep, nor how late it was when I opened my eyes in the morning.  When sunlight soaked my closed eyelids, I awoke to find the four of us all sprawled on Mr. Leigh’s bed.  Chloe’s head was on my stomach; I had been her pillow.

As I blinked, I dimly remembered my dream from my slumbers.  In the dream, I was a mountain gorilla, captured from the wilds of Africa.  I was in a metal cage, loaded onto a ship via a crane.  As my cage descended into the blackness of the ship’s hold, I glimpsed one last look at Africa; green, rich, lush.

But shortly, Mr. Leigh was awake, and he quickly asserted control over Madison, Chloe and myself.  I don’t know how he did it, but there was **_something_** about how that man spoke to you; he would simply tell you what he wanted, and then the desire to obey him filled your mind.  There was no resisting him.

One-by-one, we all showered, then dressed.  Mr. Leigh seemed in a hurry.

******

Madison, Chloe, and I were to drive to Mobile, then board a west-bound train with Mr. Leigh.  Problem:  How does a middle-aged man travel the country with three teenaged women (who are obviously not his daughters) and not arouse suspicions?  After all, it was 1965, and people were shedding the sexual innocence of the 1950s pretty darn quick.  A man with three girls would alarm some watchful soul **_somewhere_** along the line.

So Mr. Leigh’s solution was to smuggle Madison, Chloe, and me as religious fundamentalists.  He would pose as our minister or something, and the three of us would wear these specialized black dresses, which covered us head-to-toe, everywhere but our faces and hands.  Additionally, we wore light veils which masked our faces.  Once in these garments, no-one could tell our age, race, or even our nationality.  Heck, even our gender was unclear.  We were amorphous, black blobs.  In the 1960s, it was an effective disguise.

Actually, Madison and I had trouble with our dresses; our busts were too big to squeeze into those outfits.  So Mr. Leigh made us wear heavy shawls over our chests to hide our cleavage.

The dresses were heavy, itchy, and didn’t breathe.  I was sweating in mine within seconds of pulling it over my head.  Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Mr. Leigh insisted we do a hypnosis session on the spot.

“ _Hannah, Madison, Chloe,_ ” he told us while we were in trance, “ _you are all devoted followers of the Paradise Cult.  Your only thought is to serve the cult in everything you do.  You will happily follow me to the train stations where…_ ”  And more detailed instructions followed.

When I awoke, my only thought and concern was to serve the Paradise Cult – whatever that was – with every fiber in my soul.  I was happy to wear the hot, itchy, confining dress because, well, that’s what women in the cult did.  I was devoted.  I was committed.  I was happy to be a slave.

…or was I?

******

And then we were off to the Mobile train station.  The weather was especially hot and humid, making our dresses even more miserable than ever.  The hypnotism controlling us insisted that we were happy to sweat and suffer, but, man, it was hard.

While Mr. Leigh purchased tickets and arranged for his luggage to be collected from his rented house, Madison, Chloe, and I waited and sweated on the train platform.  We were silent, both because we were so uncomfortable and because we had been hypnotized to be meek and withdrawn.  Nonetheless, we attracted the stares of fellow passengers.

As I watched the luggage porters load up our train, I suddenly remembered my dream as the captured mountain gorilla.  It occurred to me that this was the last time I would ever see Georgia.  Despite my brainwashing, a pang of fear and homesickness swept through me.

A male voice spoke from behind me, interrupting my thoughts.  “I heard about these women,” it said.  “They’re fundamentalist.  Or somethin’.”

This fellow sounded like an older man, much like Hopper Douglass’s Principal Simmons.  He also had that judgmental edge in his tone, which Southern gents sometimes adopt.

“What’s that mean, _fundamentalist_?” a second male voice said, this one much younger.

“Don’t you know nothin’, boy?” snapped the older fellow.  “These women are snake worshippers or Muslims or Indians or somethin’.  Lord knows.”  He sighed.  “In my day, you’d never have heard of such a thing.  Nowadays, every religion is comin’ out of the woodwork.”

I found myself listening intently to this conversation.

“How come they dress so funny?” asked the younger man.

“They believe sex is dirty, I do believe,” the older fellow said.  “I was in North Africa, you know.  During the war.  They make their women dress head-to-toe so their bodies can’t be seen by another man.  Its to suppress the sexual urges of the body, I do believe.”

The younger man seemed to consider this.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Leigh on the other end of the platform.  He was collecting tickets and wrapping up business with the train people.  Soon we would be boarding.  And then we would never see Georgia again.

“You’re tellin’ me,” the younger man drawled, “that although this is the most un-Christian thing we’ve seen all week, I cain’t arrest no-one for this kind of… religious behavior?”

Arrest?  My ears perked up.

“Un-Christian ain’t illegal, son,” the older man said sternly.  “May be immoral, but that ain’t what the badge on your shirt is there to enforce.”

A light bulb went off in my head.  The men behind us were Mobile police!  Cops!

Although I was still thoroughly brainwashed and wanted to board that train into slavery, a part of my mind must have still been my own.  Without quite knowing what I was doing, I turned and approached the officers.

They were standing not five feet behind me, sweating in their black-and-blue spring uniforms.  The older fellow was heavy-set with a rumpled, bulldog-like face.  He was squinting and chewing tobacco.  His junior partner was short and skinny and barely filled out his breeches.  Both squinted at me in surprise as I approached them.

“Greetings to you,” I said, immediately speaking as a Cult Woman would.

“Ma’am,” the older fellow grunted.  Both cops looked me over, obviously uncomfortable.

Behind me, I heard Mr. Leigh approaching.  “Hannah,” he said sharply, his voice betraying alarm.

“May this day find you well and full of paradise,” I said to the cops, and then bowed.

As my torso tipped forward, the shawl around my shoulders slipped and fell to the ground.  I felt a breeze and the top of my chest was exposed.

The two cops stared into my cleavage, caught off-guard.

“Hannah!” Mr. Leigh shouted, hurrying over.

“The Paradise Cult wishes you joy and sexual ecstasy,” I said to the police officers.

And with that, the older cop’s eyes widened.  “ ** _Paradise Cult?_** ” he exclaimed.

And then things happened quickly.  Mr. Leigh seized me and tried to force me onto the train, all the while shouting orders at Madison and Chloe.  The three of us wanted to obey him, of course, but then there was yelling, confusing us.

“Stand fast there!” the older cop roared, drawing his nightstick.

There was a scuffle between the three men.  I was flung aside.  In that moment, I felt a rush of heat, and then my head began to spin.  Before I knew what was happening, I collapsed and blacked out.

******

When I came to, I was lying on a cot, a cool breeze drifting over my body.

“Here,” a voice said.  Chloe’s.  I felt a cup pressed to my lips.  I drank; the water was cold and delicious.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.  I was in a small, dim room, lying on a couch.  Chloe hovered over me, with Madison behind her.  The relief of my friends’ faces was palpable.

None of us were in those awful black robes.  Madison and Chloe were wearing summer dresses, faded and too sizes too large.  I looked down at myself; I was in something similar.

“She’s okay,” Madison said to Chloe, beaming with relief.

I blinked, sitting up.  My mind was reordering itself, quickly.  I remembered it all: being hypnotized and then brainwashed by Mr. Leigh, luring my friends into his trap, having group sex, being determined to run away and be sold to a foreign husband.  I remembered everything.

But now, all of those desires in my mind were gone.  Completely gone.  I was mentally free.

“You’ve been out for a while,” Chloe informed me.  “After your little stunt, they tossed Mr. Leigh into the county jail and whisked us here.  The Sheriff says Mr. Leigh’s wanted by the FBI.”  She smiled, her eyes filling with tears.  “We’re free,” she said.

“We’re going home,” Madison added.

I stared at my friends in wonder.  “Wow,” was all I could say.

Chloe playfully punched me in the arm.  “Your quick thinking saved us,” she said admiringly.  “What made you do that?”

I shrugged.

“Well,” pronounced Madison, “twenty points each for the cops.  Plus a bonus **_thousand_** for saving our hides.”

******

Madison, Chloe, and I were returned home.  After some awkward explanations to our folks, our lives slowly returned to normal.  Our boyfriends never learned about the incident, thankfully.

The Titsee Contest did not resume, of course.  Mads, Chloe, and I always knew that the contest was playing with fire.  After our experience, we simply never spoke of it again.  It seemed… distasteful somehow.

And yet, ever since I’ve always been aware of when men stared at my cleavage.  Some days, I ignore the extra attention, other days I’m annoyed by it.  But since the Titsee Contest, however, I have never enjoyed it.  Indeed, I spent years wishing I had A-cups, if only to shed myself of all the male leering.

Life rolled on.  Madison, Chloe, and I graduated from Hopper Douglass, got married, and then had our children.  Suddenly life consisted of breast-feeding, poopy diapers, mashing up baby food, playdates, mommy clubs, station wagons, nursery schools, Sunday schools, soccer practices, birthday parties, endless cleaning, and a lot of exhaustion.  My husband, Hank, worked at the mill, so most of the childrearing was on me.  Suddenly I forgot entirely about cleavage.

And then the kids were teenagers and before I knew it, my daughter Katie was developing.  I caught her getting ready for school, padding her bra and admiring her body’s profile in the mirror.  Suddenly I remembered what it was like to be sixteen and realize the boys noticed you.

And for the first time in years, I thought about the Titsee Contest.

******

That morning, I happened to drop the kids off at school and then hurried on down Route 45 to the Flapjack Diner, clocking in for my shift in the nick of time.  Madison was already there, and she gave me a knowing smile as I threw on my apron and snatched the coffee pot.

In Booth 12, a young man, maybe two or three years older than Katie is now, was mulling over the specials list.  I bent over to refill his coffee.

“You know what you want, hon?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, then glanced up.  Right into my cleavage.  “I… uh…”

And despite myself, I smiled.  Five points!

*****


End file.
